The Werewolf, the Witch, and the Hag
by madurai
Summary: Remus Lupin finds more than he bargained for when he investigates a Muggle artifact that may hold the key to rapprochement with the Giants. Inspired by the Audrey Hepburn / Peter O'Toole movie, "How to Steal A Million." Renamed
1. A Chance Meeting

**October, 1995 - Saint-Quay-Portrieux, France**

Remus hesitated at the gate to the stately stone house, set well back from the quiet cobblestone street winding its way up from the harbor. The idea of breaking into some unsuspecting Muggle's home in the middle of the night did not appeal to him in the slightest. Still, if what Dung had heard was true, they needed to act quickly and quietly to secure the artifact before the Death Eaters learned of its existence. He reached over the gate to the latch and let himself into the garden, leaning his broom against the stone wall. Blue flames flickered to life in his palm, lighting his way as he followed the garden path to the back of the house.

At his whispered _Alohomora_ the back door opened with a slight click. Moving quickly through the kitchen he entered a wide hallway. On his left a winding staircase led up to the second floor, it's walls adorned with antique swords and ancient armor; to his right was the entrance to a well-appointed study. An large, oak desk dominated the center of this room, behind which was a floor to ceiling bookshelf lined with leather-bound texts. Ignoring the temptation to rifle through the books, Remus turned his attention to the artwork that lined the walls.  The entire collection was impressive, but Remus' eyes were drawn immediately to the Gothic panel prominently displayed along one wall. Extinguishing the flame in his hand, he quickly found the Muggle light switch, bringing the panel into sharp relief in the dim room. The vivid painting portrayed Arthur, his expression pitiless, standing in the mouth of a cave brandishing a dagger. In the foreground cowered the hag, her hands raised in supplication. Gray skin hung loosely against her frame and wild, dark hair covered her sagging breasts. Behind Arthur stood Saint Quay with crucifix raised. In contrast to the heavily shadowed form of the hag, Arthur and his knight were rendered in vivid colours and framed by halos of bright sunlight that streamed into the cave. If the panel turned out to be genuine, it was truly an extraordinary find. Taking a deep breath, Remus aimed his wand at the wall and whispered, "_Aetas Revelio_," enveloping the portrait in a pale, pulsating light.  

The sudden sound of steel crashing upon marble rang through the house. Remus swore and jumped back from the wall, his heart pounding. Turning slowly he found himself staring across the hallway at a pair of fuzzy pink slippers, set at eye level halfway up the stairs and surrounded by the gleaming-edged swords that had once lined the walls of the landing. A single sabre slid the remaining way down the stairs, ringing at each step. His eyes followed the slippers to a pair of green and purple polka dot pajamas. The matching top led in turn to a heart-shaped face framed in soft pink curls, exactly the same shade as the slippers. He imagined the effect would be more than a bit pleasant, if the face were not currently schooled into a vaguely familiar scowl. Then he wondered how it was he had missed the rather dangerous looking, if ancient, firearm aimed in his direction.   

The young woman walked cautiously down the stairs until she stood level with him in the hallway. Remus spared a glance for his wand, which he had dropped when she startled him, and which now lay out of reach behind a pedestalled bust in the corner of the room. He imagined that Mad-Eye would have quite a bit to say about his lack of vigilance – that is, if he managed to make it out of the situation with either his life or the Statute of Secrecy intact.   

He smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. "Ah, hello. I'm terribly sorry if I frightened you."   

"What do you think you're doing?" The young woman was British, he was relieved to note. At least he wouldn't risk antagonising her further by trying to communicate in his rather rusty French.  

"Admiring your collection?" was the first thing that came to mind, but judging by the woman's expression she was not amused. He noticed with some trepidation that the firearm had not wavered from its aim at the middle of his chest. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be forward, but is that thing armed?"  

"What? Of course it is!" she replied, although she seemed a bit nonplussed by the question. Her eyes narrowed. "Are you armed?"  

"What? Oh, no, no. See?" He undid the clasp of his cloak to reveal the plain white shirt underneath. "No weapons."  

"What about your wand?"  

"My ... what?"  

She rolled her eyes. "Your wand. I saw the glow from the study as I was coming down the stairs. Besides, its not like your average Muggle burglar traipses around in a cloak these days."  

He pointed an accusing finger at her. "You're a witch! Blast Mundungus Fletcher and all of his empty assurances. '_It's quite safe, Remus, they'll all be out for the night. Not to worry, Remus, it's just some old Muggle bloke and his daughter_.'"  

In hindsight his outburst was probably less than wise considering his position. As the young witch stepped back in alarm her foot caught on the edge of the Persian rug that lined the hallway. She managed to catch herself before stumbling into the stairs, but in the process dropped the gun quite forcefully onto a nearby table. It went off with a rather deafening bang.  

"Bloody Hell! You just shot me!" Remus clutched at his arm and looked at her incredulously.  

"I shot you!" she cried at the same time. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Here, let me help you."

The young woman rushed into the study and reached for his injured arm.  Remus hissed in pain and withdrew his arm from her grasp. "I think you've helped me quite enough, thanks!"

Logically he knew that the injury was not life-threatening. He had inflicted far worse upon himself during the full moon. Yet something about the idea of being shot by a Muggle firearm was disturbing enough that he felt himself grow queasy. He subsequently found himself in no position to argue as she took his uninjured arm and led him out of the study and in to the sitting room, where he sank gratefully onto an over-stuffed chair.  

"Sit there. I'll go and get the first aid kit."  

Remus leaned back into the chair, wondering what in the world he had gotten himself into. Looking around he noticed that this room quite a bit more comfortable and less formal than the rest of the house. The chair he was sitting in seemed more suited to a Liverpool television room than a manor home in Brittany, for one, and indeed there was a large Muggle telly on the opposite wall. His eyes came to rest on a portrait over the fireplace. An elegant woman in deep blue robes stared down at him with slight smile on her face under an arched eyebrow. Remus knew that expression. In fact, if he wasn't mistaken, he knew the inspiration for the portrait. Suddenly, the girl's familiarity made sense. He groaned. He was going to kill Dung.  

"It's only a flesh wound." The young woman had apparently interpreted his groan as one of pain as she came back into the room carrying a large box of bandages and ointments. He noticed that she had retrieved her own wand, which was now stuck behind one ear.   

"Yes, well, it's my flesh." He sat up straighter in the chair, trying to restore some modicum of dignity after practically swooning in the aftermath of the ... accident.  

"I've said I was sorry. The gun's an antique; I didn't even know it was loaded, much less that it would still fire. And it probably wouldn't have if I weren't so dead clumsy," she added with a self-depreciating frown as she ripped apart his sleeve to examine the wound.  

"Excuse me?"

"I tripped, alright! So sue me."  

"One might have second thoughts about waving around dangerous weapons if one is prone to clumsiness."   He shifted irritably in the chair as she prodded the wound.

"Well, one might also have second thoughts about breaking into our bloody house and trying to steal our paintings!"  

"I... point taken." She began dabbing at the wound on his shoulder with one of the ointments from the rather well-stocked first aid kit. He took the opportunity to study her more closely. He could see the resemblance now – the shape of the face was rounder, but the high forehead, the intense grey eyes – the girl was a Black, through and through. To his surprise he noticed that her hair was now a deep shade of red, matching the colour high in her cheeks.

"Wasn't your hair pink, before? Or have I just lost quite a bit of blood?"  

"What?" She took a lock of hair from her bangs and gazed at it in surprised. "Oh. Must be the stress. It's not everyday I shoot a burglar, you know." She gave a shrug and closed her eyes for a moment in concentration. Immediately the roots of her hair began to turn pink. He watched in fascination as the colour flowed through her curls until her head was covered in the same soft pink he had noticed earlier.  

"You're a Metamorphmagus."   

"Apparently," she agreed distractedly while aiming her wand at the gash along his arm. "_Episkey_. There, that should take care of it. It really was just a flesh wound. Now, what am I going to do with you?" She sighed. "I should have just called the police."  

"Why didn't you?" he asked her curiously. "It's the middle of the night, an intruder is in your house ... why didn't you call the police?"  

"There wasn't time, was there? I came downstairs for a snack and there you were. Then I thought I'd gone and killed you. And besides, I wasn't sure how I was going to explain to the local gendarmes what a wizard was doing in my father's study. We do have the Statute of Secrecy in France, you know." She rounded on him in annoyance. "And anyway, aren't you glad that I checked first to see if you were alive?"  

"Yes, yes, of course. We seem to be at a crossroads, then. You don't wish to involve the local constabulary and Merlin knows I'm certainly not keen on the idea, either. I'll tell you what, you let me go, and I solemnly swear that I will never again try to steal one of your paintings."  

"I'm not sure why I should trust the word of a thief."  

"Consider it an act of self-preservation. I should hardly want to walk in on you and one of those firearms again."  

"Next time I'll be sure and have my wand."  

"Even more reason, then. I'll just retrieve my broom from your garden and I'll be off." He stood, too quickly as it turned out, and immediately had to grab the back of the chair to keep from falling as the floor pitched beneath him.  

"You're hardly in any position to fly a broom. Where are you staying?"  

Remus closed his eyes against the spinning and took a deep breath. "In the wizarding section of Saint Brieuc, an Inn called the Witches' Quarter."  

"That's not far. I'll drive you in Dad's car."  

Remus was still feeling a bit unsteady as the young woman drove the car around to the back of the house, but the subsequent drive to Saint Brieuc presented ample opportunity for him to regret his choice not to fly. The witch handled the Muggle automobile like it was a broom at the Quidditch World Cup. She seemed to take particular delight in navigating the roundabouts. Several times he was sure they were going to spend the rest of their lives going around in circles, only to have the car dart down a side street at the last minute.

Finally they arrived at the entrance to the Wizarding village of Saint Brieuc.  Remus let out relieved sigh as they screeched to a halt at the curb. He climbed unsteadily out of the car and turned towards his companion with the question he had been meaning to ask throughout the ride, had he not been hanging onto the seat for dear life. "Did your father paint that portrait over the fireplace?"  

"Yes, it's a picture of my Mum."  

"Then you are Andromeda Black's daughter."  

"Andromeda _Tonks_," she corrected. A wistful expression crossed her face, making her appear even younger. "You knew my mother?"   

"I only met her once. I ... was ... friends with your cousin, Sirius." Seeing her face regain it's guarded look, he elaborated. "We were at Hogwarts together, a long time ago. I'd forgotten how beautiful your mother was. I can see the resemblance, now. You must be Nymphadora."  

"Tonks," she replied. At his puzzled expression she blushed and gestured to the green and purple polka dots peeking out from under her hastily donned navy pea coat and Doc Martens. "Nymphadora hardly suits me, does it. It's just Tonks."  

"I think Nymphadora suits you quite well, actually." Seeing her brows knit in annoyance, he quickly added, "But Tonks it is. And I am Remus Lupin. It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Tonks."

She rolled her eyes but accepted his proffered hand. "Lovely, a polite thief."  

"The portrait is quite good, you know. Your father is an excellent painter. Then he, ah, must have painted _The Death of the Black Hag_, as well?"  

"Thank you ... Wait, how did - ?" She looked at him in surprise.  

"How did I know that it's a forgery? The spell I cast, just before you stumbled" he tried to smother his grin – unsuccessfully by the way her eyes narrowed – "upon my activities. The more intense the color, the older the artifact. That so-called 'lost panel by the Master of St Giles' is closer to 2 years old than 600."  

"Bugger." She chewed her lip uncertainly. "You're not going to tell anyone, are you?"  

"Considering the circumstances of our meeting tonight, I don't think it's necessary to notify the authorities." He was suddenly aware of just how taxing the events of the evening had been, and longed for his bed at the Inn, no matter how narrow and lumpy the mattress. "Well, it's been a pleasure to meet you, Nymphadora Tonks. I only hope that the next time we meet it's under less painful circumstances," he couldn't help but add.  

"I take it there'll be no more breaking into my home in the middle of the night, then?" she smirked. "Good night, Mr. Lupin."

"Remus," he amended, holding on to her hand a bit longer than absolutely necessary.  

"Remus," she agreed.


	2. Take a Thief to Lunch Day

Tonks woke to a persistent tapping at the window. Sunlight streamed in through gauzy curtains, casting the room in pale light. Throwing back the covers she stumbled to the window, where a large owl was pecking impatiently at the pane.   

"Yes, yes, sorry, I had a bit of a lie in this morning," she soothed. The owl flapped its wings at her impatiently. She took a copy of the paper from the pouch around its neck, placed a sickle in return, and fed the disgruntled bird an owl treat from the stash she kept next to the window.   

Closing the window against the autumn chill, she rushed back under the warmth of the comforter. Her thoughts kept returning to last night's encounter with the would-be thief, Remus Lupin. Why would a wizard burgle a Muggle household, anyway? Most Wizarding crooks dealt in stolen potion ingredients or forged magical devices. Breaking and entering into a Muggle household, however, carried with it the added charge of conspiring to violate the Statute of Secrecy, which was a guaranteed one-way ticket to Azkaban – or the French equivalent. Not to mention the fact that Remus didn't strike her as your average burglar. Far too polite, for one, and not at all menacing. Rather attractive, actually, for an older man.   

Tonks shook her head in annoyance. She'd wasted enough time last night – and into the early hours of the morning, if she were truthful with herself – trying to puzzle out Remus Lupin. She sat cross-legged under the blanket and spread the Daily Prophet out over the duvet. The front-page article was, of course, another hit-piece on Dumbledore. She scanned through the article quickly, stopping halfway down the page.   

_... There are those who question whether he tragic accidental death of the Diggory boy may have finally driven Albus Dumbledore over the edge into dementia, with all this talk of the Dark Lord returning. One member of the Governing Board, who spoke on the condition of anonymity, told this reporter: "We all feel safer for our children with Dolores Umbridge there to keep an eye on things for the Ministry. Some of us have been warning for years that Hogwarts was ripe for such a tragedy. Dumbledore's increasingly frequent lapses in judgment, from blithely ignoring the incompetence of his Groundskeeper to hiring a Dark Creature to teach defense, are putting our children at risk. ..."  _  

Tonks drew a breath in recognition and dove under the bed for the suitcase filled with back issues of the Prophet. She had begun collecting them in a fit of House pride (and perhaps a smidgen of homesickness) when Cedric Diggory had been chosen as Tri-Wizard champion for Hogwarts the year before. Her hobby had become somewhat of an obsession when Cedric had died, and rumors of the Dark Lord's return had begun to surface.

She thumbed quickly through the summer issues, looking for a particular editorial, one of the first to question Dumbledore's judgment. Yes, here it was, _"After last year's fiasco around the hiring of Remus Lupin, the werewolf who has never been completely cleared in the escape of Sirius Black..." _  

Tonks sat back against the headboard and sighed. Why would Dumbledore put the students at risk by hiring a werewolf? It didn't say much for the Headmaster's judgment that said werewolf was now making his living as a thief. Perhaps the Ministry was right about Dumbledore, after all. Perhaps he had begun to lose his grip on reality. The idea was troubling and more than a little sad. 

Still deep in thought, she pulled on a pair of paint-splattered jeans and layered her purple sweatshirt over a long-sleeved Weird Sisters t-shirt. Halfway down the stairs to get some breakfast, she heard her father's voice.   

"Careful with that, now! It's heavier than it looks."   

Tonks stopped at the landing to morph her hair into the short blonde bob she favored when dealing with the local Muggles, and continued down the stairs to see her father. Ted Tonks stood in the middle of the hallway, supervising three Muggle workers who were assembling a large wooden crate.  

"Good morning, Dad." She kissed him on the cheek. "What's all this?"   

"Mornin', sleepyhead." Ted tucked her under his arm and indicated the crate, which the men were now layering with some of that plastic Muggle blubber wrap. "Your old man's painting is going on display at Le Musée d'Art et d'Histoire in Brieuc."  

"What?"  

"Last night at dinner, the mayor asked if I would be so kind as to loan our recently discovered masterpiece to the city. Next week marks the 1500-year anniversary of the feast day of Saint Quay. They have quite a festival planned, and our painting will be the showcase of the event."  

Tonks grabbed her father's arm and dragged him around the corner into the kitchen, whispering fiercely into his ear. "And did you happen to mention to his honor the mayor that it's a _fake_?"   

"Now, Dora. It's not like I'm putting _The Hag_ up for auction on the open market. And if it brings the folks of Saint-Quay-Portrieux some pleasure on their feast day, why it'd be down right uncivic of me to refuse!"

"But what if someone discovers the forgery?"

"Dora, I'm hurt! You know that I take great pride in making my work as authentic as possible. I mixed the oil and egg tempera myself, using eggs from the local market. Why I even obtained a piece of oak from an old barn near the monastery at Cleder for the panel! No one would ever guess that _The Death of the Black Hag_ is not a genuine artifact of the mysterious Master of Saint Giles."

"No one but a would-be thief with a penchant for _revelio_ spells," she muttered under her breath.

"What's that, love?"

"Never mind. Look, Dad, I've got a very bad feeling about this…"

"Don't be such a worrywart, Dora. Everything is going to be fine. The painting will hang in the Museum for a couple of weeks, then it will reclaim its place of honor in my study."  

He kissed her on the forehead and moved back in to the hallway, where the workers had begun to seal the crate. "Whoa, there, gents, be careful where you put those nails! Our unknown but greatly admired artist painted on wood, after all."  

Tonks sighed in resignation and sat down on the steps to watch. Under Ted's close supervision, the men carefully lifted the heavy crate onto a trolley and began to maneuver it down the hallway and out the front door. Presumably there was some sort of lorry waiting in the driveway and they wouldn't have to wheel it all the way to Saint Brieuc by hand.  Pity there was no way to see it suffer an unfortunate accident and roll its way into the harbor. Not without breaking her dad's heart, anyway.

No sooner had the crate cleared the doorway than a woman appeared in its stead, peering uncertainly into the house.

"It's like bleeding Victoria station around here lately," grumbled Tonks. Ted gave her a look and went to greet their visitor.  

"Do I have the pleasure of speaking with Monsieur Tonks?" the woman inquired in heavily accented English. She appeared to be in her mid-fifties, with elegant features framed by blond hair pulled into a French braid. She wore an expensive looking tailored suit that Tonks guessed was at least three decades out of date. The overall effect was quite stunning, rather like something out of a 1950s Muggle picture. Tonks took an instant dislike to her.

"Indeed you do, Madame. How may I help you? If you are interested in some of our antiques, the shop is on Rue des Greves, and opens at 10 am."  

"It is delightful to meet you at last, Monsieur. Your reputation in the art world precedes you." The woman smiled warmly and held her out her hand, palm down. Tonks barely controlled her snort as her father took her hand in his for a perfunctory kiss.

"Indeed, it is your private collection in which I am interested. In particular, your recently discovered masterpiece by the artist of Saint Giles, _The Death of the Black Hag_."  

"I'm afraid you just missed It."   

"Pardon?" The woman's smiled faltered as she removed her hand from Ted's grasp.  

"It was just carried out that door, to go on display at the museum in Brieuc for the upcoming Festival of Saint Quay." Ted was evidently still quite pleased with the idea of his 'discovery' going on exhibit and didn't seem to notice as the woman's demeanor turned cool.   

"That is ... unfortunate. I represent certain interests, collectors if you will, one of whom is most interested in such a unique find."  

Ted smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, it's not for sale."  

"My employer is quite insistent, and is prepared offer a munificent sum, Monsieur Tonks."  

Tonks shivered as she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Something about this woman didn't sit right – the anachronistic dress, the way she kept staring around the house as if in a zoo. This was no Muggle art dealer, she felt sure. She walked over to stand next to her father, her fingers toying with the wand concealed in her sleeve.   

"No, I'm afraid I have no interest in parting with the piece. It means so much to the people of this town, you see, I wouldn't dream of selling it," Ted continued to defer.  

"I strongly suggest you reconsider. Some of my associates can be quite ... persuasive, and our offer is not likely to be so generous the next time."  

"Are you threatening my father?"  

The blonde turned her cool gaze on Tonks. "Why no, dear, of course not. Just a friendly warning. It is apparent your father does not understand what he has stumbled upon. Perhaps you can change his mind."  

Ted's smile was forced. "I'm sorry, I've given you my final answer."  

"Very well. It is, of course, your decision. Au revoir, Monsieur. Until we meet again."  

"Au revoir."  

Tonks didn't relax until her father had escorted the woman to the front steps and closed the door behind her. She watched through the window as the woman walked a few yards down the front lawn, turned with a step and disappeared.  

"Dad, I don't think that was a Muggle art dealer."  

"Don't be absurd, Dora." Ted shook his head in denial. "What would a wizard want with some old Muggle painting, even if it were genuine? No, it was just some over enthusiastic agent for a collector – probably American. I'm going to get ready to go into the shop."

She wondered if he could hear the uncertainty in his own voice.

* * *

Tonks entered the small courtyard that served as the entrance to the magical community of St Brieuc. As always she was struck by a frisson of energy upon crossing the magical barrier. It took a moment for the butterflies in her stomach to settle – a combination of the residual magic in the air and her own sense of euphoria upon being back in the Wizarding world again. The wide, paved streets did not differ significantly from their Muggle counterparts, except for the somewhat exotic dress of its inhabitants. The street was lined on both sides by an open-air market, with vendors selling everything from potion ingredients to freshly baked bread.

Tonks spotted Remus Lupin in the corner of a cafe, drinking café au lait and reading the _Daily Prophet_. She took a moment to study him. His blue jumper was faded but clean and neat, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to reveal slightly frayed cuffs. Although his clothes were well-worn, he didn't exactly fit the seedy image of a werewolf and thief that one might expect from reading the _Prophet_. And if his sandy brown hair was streaked with gray, it was obvious in the light of day that he was much younger than she had taken him for last night.

She slid unceremoniously into the chair next to his.

Remus did double take at her hair, which was still blonde, and then smiled broadly. "Well, hello, Nymphadora. This is an unexpected surprise."

Tonks briefly considered hexing him for his use of her first name, but settled for snatching a piece of croissant from his plate, instead. "Didn't you know? It's national take a thief to lunch day."

"I am fortunate, then. Not many thieves can brag they've been taken to lunch by such a lovely young witch."

"What about werewolves?" she blurted.

Tonks could have kicked herself. The effect on Remus was instantaneous. His face, which had been so open and friendly a moment before, was now set into a mask. He sat stiffly in his chair and placed his napkin on the table, preparing to stand. "I apologize, Miss Tonks. I'll just be on my –"

"Hang on, where are you going?"

"Naturally I assumed that you wouldn't want to be seen..."

"Don't be daft. I sat down with you, remember? In case you haven't noticed, it's broad daylight, the full moon is two weeks away, and we're in a crowded cafe surrounded by wizards. Besides, you're not going to bite me, are you?" She blushed as she realized how that last bit sounded. Across the table, Lupin's face relaxed, and she thought she saw his mouth twitched in barely suppressed amusement.

"Look, I just want to know what a former Hogwarts professor and confidant of Albus Dumbledore is doing breaking into houses to steal art work." Tonks leaned forward, her hand accidentally brushing his where it lay on the table. His eyes flew up to hers and she was surprised by his guarded look, as if he expected her to snatch her hand away in disgust. She very casually left it were it lay.

Remus smiled bitterly and sat back in his seat with a shrug. "There aren't many avenues of employment open to werewolves, these days. One does have to make ends meet."

"Seems to me you make a pretty poor thief. Aren't you afraid you might starve to death before you actually manage to steal anything?"

"Touché."

"You know what I think? I think that you were sent by Dumbledore to investigate my Dad's painting. And I want to know why."

"You're pretty good at this. Have you ever considered a career in law enforcement?"

Now it was her turn to be caught off-guard, both his question and by the emotion it provoked. "I was in training to be an Auror, actually, under Mad-Eye Moody."

Remus looked impressed. "You were Alastor's protégé? You must have been very good."

Tonks felt herself blushing for the second time in as many minutes. "Not really. I was bollocks at Stealth and Tracking. Anyway, when Mum died, Dad wanted to get away from the Wizarding world, start fresh. His cousin offered him part stake in an antique shop, and here we are."

"If you don't mind my asking, how did your father get into forgery?"

"Dad's always painted. Even when he was working at the WWN there was always some piece or other half finished under a cloth in the basement. You saw the portrait of my mother – his one great piece of original art." She stared at the tablecloth, picking at an imaginary piece of lint.

"And?" he prompted gently.

"When we moved to France he took up painting full time. Landscapes, ships in the harbor, and the like. He even tried to sell a few to the tourists. Unfortunately they weren't all that good. Not bad, really, just ... ordinary. So he started messing around a bit with style, copying some of the old masters, trying to improve his technique." She sighed. "And that's when he discovered his true talent – forgery.

"Now its my turn, Lupin. Why were you so interested in that painting?"

"Why do you want to know?"

His stalling tactic didn't fool her, but she let herself be diverted. It was the reason she had sought him out, after all. She told him about the visitor earlier that morning, and the woman's interest in the same painting he had attempted to steal.

"You say the woman had an accent?"

"Yes, but not French. It sounded eastern European to me."

"Emilie Karkaroff."

"Karkaroff as in the Headmaster of Durmstrang?"

"Former Headmaster, now reported to be hiding somewhere in the Caucasus Mountains. And yes, she is his wife – and rumor has it she is quite eager to take his place as a Death Eater."

"What is it with this bloody painting? First you, and now Death Eaters? The thing is, Dad will never sell to them! And what if they find out its a fake? Either way, they'll kill him."

"What do you want me to do?" He leaned forward, looking so sincere that she almost didn't ask. The thought of the Karkaroff woman coming after her father was enough to convince her to go through with her plan.

"I want you to help me steal it."

"You want to steal your own painting?"

"Of course! I'd never steal someone else's painting."

"And how, exactly, is that going to help your father?"

"If the painting is stolen from the exhibit, the Death Eaters won't come looking for it, will they?"

Remus opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again. He stared at her for a moment and then let out a short laugh. "I can't argue with your logic, or your audacity. There's only one problem with your plan." He leaned in closer. "I'm not actually a thief. Let's take a walk, shall we?" 

* * *

Tonks ticked the points off on her fingers one by one. "So what you're telling me is that You-Know-Who is back, but the Ministry is in denial with their heads up their arses – typical; that you, Remus Lupin, werewolf and former Hogwarts Professor, belong to a secret organisation founded by Albus Dumbledore that meets in the decrepit home of my late, unlamented Great Aunt Walburga; and that my notorious cousin Sirius Black – who is not, in fact, a mass murderer – is hiding out there as well?

"That about sums it up, yes." Remus pulled at the hair on the nape of his neck and peered at her uncertainly. "Too much?"

"No, actually, it makes quite a bit of sense." She sighed. "What am I going to do about my father?"

He grinned. "That's easy. I'm going to help you steal the painting."


	3. A Night at the Museum

The Le Musée d'Art was crowded with well-heeled citizens of Saint-Quay-Portrieus, many of whom had made the drive up for the opening reception in honor of the famous panel of their patron saint. Remus wandered around feeling quite out of place in his threadbare wool suit, the closest thing to Muggle formal wear that he owned. He found himself in a small side room, staring up in amusement at a 19th century painting of Saint Quay in full bishop regalia, ploughing a field behind a large stag. "You've never looked handsomer, Prongs."

"There you are." Tonks handed him a glass of champagne. She had exchanged her frayed jeans and sweatshirt for a simple black sleeveless cocktail dress, reminding him of a young Andromeda and looking every bit the socialite daughter of a minor local celebrity.

"Have I mentioned how lovely you look this evening, Nymphadora?"

Her cheeks turned pink as she huffed in annoyance. "Don't call me that. What are you doing over here? I thought we were going to scope the joint out."

Remus smiled at her use of Muggle slang. Mindful that his voice didn't carry, he leaned down to answer, "It wouldn't due to appear too interested in our panel. Once it goes missing I'd just as soon not be remembered as 'that rough-looking chap with the shaggy hair who was hanging about the painting yesterday.'

Straightening up he asked, "Shall we?" and guided her towards the main room of the exhibition, where The Death of the Black Hag was prominently displayed. He sighed as he looked up at the image of Arthur confronting the hag. "Your father doesn't realize what he's done, painting this particular scene."

"I still don't understand. Why are the Death Eaters so interested in a Muggle painting?"

"It's not the painting itself, but what it represents. The death of the Black Hag was one of the legendary tasks that Arthur undertook on behalf of his cousin Culwhch. Culwhch wished to marry the daughter of the giant, Ysbaddaden. In return for his daughter's hand, Ysbaddaden sent Culwhch on a series of impossible tasks, the last of which was to bring him the blood of the Black Hag." Remus hesitated, wondering if he had fallen prone to what Sirius called his 'professor mode,' but Tonks seemed genuinely interested. "It seems that the hag's blood was the only thing that could untangle the giant's great mane of hair."

Tonks looked at him in disbelief. "And Culwhch wanted to marry this guy's daughter?"

Remus grinned. "Apparently it was love at first sight." He brought his attention back to the portrait. "In the end, four of Arthur's knights were killed by the hag, before the King went into the cave himself and cleaved her in two with his dagger – a gift from Merlin. Saint Quay collected her blood and Culwhch presented it to Ysbaddaden. That evening the giant combed his hair for the first time in a decade.

"In the traditional, Welsh story, Arthur and his knights take advantage of the giant's distraction to slay him. The giants tell a slightly different story, of course. In their version Ysbaddaden lives and Culwhch is the featured item on the menu at the celebratory feast."

Tonks grimaced. "Lovely. Is Dumbledore quite certain that we want the giants on our side?"

"At the very least, we'd like them to stay out of it an not aid the enemy. This particular point in their history is one that the giants obsess upon. Ysbaddaden was their greatest chieftain, and a gift commemorating his triumph over the Black Hag would bring enormous status to its recipient. We were hoping to retrieve the panel quietly, before the Death Eaters learned of its existence. Of course, that's all moot now that we know it is a forgery."

"Why not take it to the giants, as planned?"

"Wizarding legend has it that the 'Master of Saint Giles' was himself a wizard, perhaps even a contemporary of Merlin. The giants would consider his painting an authentic rendering of the event – if it were genuine. Unfortunately, they are likely to become quite irate if they realize they've been deceived."

"Maybe we should just let the Death Eaters have it."

"Hmm, yes. If it weren't for the fact that they're rather likely to take their irritation out on your father once they discover the forgery, I'd be tempted to do just that." He felt Tonks stiffen beside him. "What is it?"

"That's her, the woman who came by the house to see the painting." She nodded towards the entrance to the exhibit, where Emilie Karkaroff had just walked in.

Remus placed his hand in the middle of Tonks' back and guided her towards some of the other artifacts on exhibit. "Just act naturally. As far as she knows, you're the socialite daughter of a rich collector, come to see her father's famous painting on display." Tonks managed to smile and nod politely at Karkaroff, although Remus could see the muscles in her jaw twitch. For her part, Madame Karkaroff made great show of admiring the Hag.

"That bloody hag…" Tonks seethed beside him.

"Yes, well, while I sympathize with your rather apt characterization, it wouldn't do to start a confrontation in the middle of all these innocent Muggles. Why don't we see the rest of the museum, hmm?"

They wandered through the museum's permanent collection in comfortable silence. Tonks seemed to cool down fairly quickly, once Karkaroff was out of sight. Remus was lost in thought, still trying desperately to come up with a plan to liberate the painting. The area immediately in front of the panel had been roped off, and he suspected the space behind the ropes was well equipped with Muggle motion detectors. He had noticed security cameras at each of the entrances to the museum, as well. Not for the first time he wondered what he'd gotten himself in to in promising to help this beguiling young witch.

Tonks interrupted his musings with the question he dreaded. "I take it you have a plan, then? Something bold and audacious?"

He scratched behind his ear. "Haven't got a clue, actually. I wish Sirius were here. He was always bold and audacious. I was rather more quiet and bookish."

"Why can't we just use magic? A freezing charm to disable the alarm, and then apparate out with it?" Remus looked at her in surprise. "Mad-Eye," she explained.

"Of course." He might have known Mad-Eye's protégé would know how to disarm a Muggle security system. "A simple Muggle burglar alarm is easy enough to disarm," he agreed. "But a sophisticated system like this one – we're just as likely to set it off if we try so much as a silencing charm. Magic doesn't mix well with Muggle electronics. But surely you must have noticed, living in a Muggle house?"

She shrugged. "Dad's gone a bit native. I think magic reminds him a bit too much of Mum. Mind you, he doesn't complain when I use a spell to do the washing up. But we live mostly like Muggles, now."

"Ah." Remus thought he detected a note of wistfulness in her voice. He could sympathize, having spent more than a bit of time on the outskirts of Wizarding society in the years since James' and Lily's deaths, never quite a part of either culture.

"Too bad we can't just turn it off," she continued.

Remus stopped in his tracks, his mind turning. "That's brilliant! Meet me back here a half hour before closing." Her protests fell on deaf ears as he dashed off towards the exit. His inner Marauder had taken over, the idea forming in his head just crazy enough that it might actually work.


	4. Psychological Warfare

An hour later he was back, having retrieved a few useful items from his room at the inn. A quick circuit of the building had revealed one or two likely hiding places, as well as a safe apparition point in the alleyway that behind the museum. He found Tonks wandering around the Saint Quay exhibit, Madame Karkaroff nowhere in sight. Remus shepherded her down a hallway into the women's loo just as the closing announcement came over the intercom.

"What are you doing?" she hissed, "You can't come in here!"

"Shh!" Remus peeked out the door to make sure no one had seen them enter the lavatory. "All right, now, can you transform your dress into something a bit more … practical?"

Tonks glared at him, but took out her wand and transformed her cocktail dress into a plain denim smock.

"Good, good. Just one more minute…" Remus cracked the door open once again, then whispered, "Quickly!" and directed Tonks across the hall to a door marked 'Portier.' He unlocked the door with a swift _Alohomora_ and urged her inside.

"_Lumos_," muttered Tonks, casting the room in a dim light. "Now what?"

"_Colloportus_." Remus cast an imperturbable charm on the locked door and turned to Tonks. "Now, we wait."

The broom closet had looked much larger when he had discovered it earlier that evening – as it happened there was barely room for two people to stand. He was beginning to wish he had cast an enlargement charm on it before locking them in. Then again, there were certain advantages to the close quarters, not the least of which was the feel of her breath against his cheek. Even if said breath was presently huffing at him in annoyance.

"You're standing on my foot!"

"I'm sorry, just ... twist a bit to the left. No, my left, counterclockwise. There, is that better?"

"Lovely, except for the broom handle digging into my back."

"If you'll recall, Nymphadora, robbing the museum was your idea –"

"Don't call me Nymphadora!"

" – and if you can arrange better lodgings whilst waiting to commit a felony, I'm certainly willing to move."

"Point taken," she conceded with a glare.

After a few more minutes of shuffling they managed to find a reasonable accommodation, although Remus was forced to bend forward slightly to fit his tall frame into a corner under some shelves. He finally settled on placing his foot on an overturned pail and resting his elbow on his knee, chin in hand. Tonks leaned against the locked door, arms crossed defensively in front of her.

"I liked the pink," he offered in an attempt to make peace.

"What?"

"Your hair. I rather liked the pink."

"Oh." She blushed. "Thanks." After a moment's hesitation she added, "I'd never heard that story before, of Culwhch and the giants."

"It's not very well known, in fact I'm a bit surprised your father had heard of it. Most Muggles are only familiar with Mallory or Tennyson."

"Dad's always been a bit of a nutter for King Arthur, even when he was a kid. He claims it's the only subject he stayed awake for during History of Magic."

"That is impressive. From what little I recall Professor Binns managed to make even Merlin and Arthur sound as dull as ditchwater. I used to feel almost relieved whenever a full moon happened to coincide with History of Magic." Tonks shoulders relaxed a bit and he was rewarded with a grin.

Remus checked his watch. "Time enough, I think. Um, here," he took her gently by the shoulders and managed to execute a pirouette without knocking either of them to the floor "… trade places with me for just a moment."

"What is that?" She looked curiously at the long, flesh-coloured string he had taken from his jacket pocket.

"This? Just a useful little toy invented by some clever young friends of mine." Remus lowered the string and slipped the ear-shaped appendage under the small crack between the door and the floorboard.

"Shh." He held the earpiece at a convenient height and encouraged Tonks to lean closer. Remus kept perfectly still, trying to distinguish any sound in the corridor or rooms beyond. When he was satisfied that there was no movement whatsoever into or out of the exhibit, he began to retrieve the extendable ear.

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to set off the alarm."

"What?! Are you mad?"

"Quite possibly." When she made to argue he explained, "Look, how would you feel if you were stuck here night after night, guarding a building full of art you had no interest in and couldn't afford to buy even if you did."

"Bored, probably. And annoyed."

"Precisely. We're going to practise a bit of psychological warfare – convince the guards that it's their idea to turn off the alarms."

Remus cautiously opened the door. A glance up and down the hallway showed it to be empty. "Stay here, I'll be right back." He made his way down the shadowed corridor to the main room of the exhibit, staying close to the wall. The Death of the Black Hag was directly across from where he stood, illuminated by a single spotlight in the ceiling. Drawing his wand he whispered, "Avis Solo." A small song thrush appeared flitting about his head. Remus directed it towards the opposite wall and caused it to dive in and out of the space around the painting. Immediately a piercing alarm rang throughout the museum.

He dove back towards the closet, securing the door behind him once more with a locking spell. Tonks had covered her ears against the din of the alarm, which was hardly muted by the thin walls. Excited voices could just be distinguished amongst the racket, accompanied by the hurried sound of footsteps outside their door. Remus held his breath, waiting.

The alarm shut-off as suddenly as it had sounded.

Tonks sighed in relief. "That's worse than a caterwauling charm. I don't know which was louder, the alarm or the pounding of my heart."

Remus motioned her to be quiet, and once more threaded the extendable ear through the crack at the base of the door. They listened together to the voices of the guards in the exhibition hall.

_"Rapport!"  
"Rien, monsieur."  
"Rien? Avez-vous verifié tous les sorties?"  
"Oui, monsieur, ils n'ont pas été déplacés. Tout est en ordre, on n'a rien pris."  
"Alors, très bien. Réglez les alarmes et éteignez les lumières.""  
_

"How's your French?" Remus whispered.

"They're definitely annoyed," Tonks replied, listening intently. "He's sending someone to reset the alarms now."

"All right, we'll give them some time to become complacent, and try again."

They settled back to wait, Remus sitting against the door and Tonks perched atop the overturned bucket.

"Remus?"

"Mm hm?" He was trying hard not to follow the line of her dress where it rode up her thigh.

"Why do you call me Nymphadora when you know it drives me mad?"

"Well, for one thing I happen to think it suits you."

She rolled her eyes. "Please."

"And," he added, trying hard not to laugh and failing miserably, "I like the way it trips off of the tongue: Nym-pha-do_rra_."

"Git," she said, slapping him on the shoulder.

"And ..." Remus hesitated, not at all certain at the direction the conversation was taking.

"And?"

"And this." He leaned forward and gently, briefly pressed his lips against hers in a show of Gryffindor courage he was no longer sure he possessed.

"Oh. Oh."

The slight smile on her face – and the fact that she hadn't taken the opportunity to hex him into next week – convinced him to lean in for another kiss. His hands caressed up and down her back before settling around her waist to pull her close. Tonks threaded her hands into his hair and deepened the kiss, and for a few moments Remus was lost in the sensation of her lips and tongue.

He pulled away reluctantly to look at his watch. "Nymphadora."

"Don't call me that." He thought he felt her smile against his collarbone as she traced his neck with her lips.

" 'Dora," he sighed, and pulled her face up to his to kiss the corner of her mouth. "It's time," he whispered, but his actions belied his words as he continued to place light kisses across her face. He finally pulled back with one last kiss to the tip of her nose. "I'll be back."

At the entrance to the exhibition hall he once again summoned a thrush and sent it flying towards the painting, sprinting back to the closet when the alarm sounded. This time when they settled in to listen to the ensuing commotion Tonks sat on Remus' lap, her arms threaded around his neck. He held the earpiece while she translated.

_"'Un oiseau, monsieur.'  
_"He says, 'It is a bird, sir.'_  
"'Un oiseau?' _A bird?_  
"'Oui, il est monté dans les chevrons. Nous pensons qu'il déclencherait les alarmes.  
_"Yes, in the rafters. We think it set off the alarm._  
"'Que ne donnerais-je pour un fusil!'  
_"If only I had my ... shotgun? _  
"'Monsieur?' Sir?  
"'Peu importe. Cette fichue alarme est spécialement conçue pour me donner brûlures d'estomac.  
"_Never mind. That damned alarm was specially created to give me heartburn."

"That's it," she added, "they've gone. Do you think that did it?"

"We should probably test it one more time just to be sure."

She looked at him innocently. "Whatever can we do in the meantime to keep ourselves occupied?"

"Oh, I imagine we'll think of something," he grinned as he captured her lips with his.

Minutes later she pulled back in annoyance, responding no doubt to the laughter that was bubbling up through his chest. "What are you laughing at?"

"I was just thinking, if your cousin Sirius could see me now."

"What do you think he'd say?"

"Either, 'Rock on, Moony!' or 'Get your hands off my cousin, you great, effing prat.'" He paused to consider. "Probably both."

Tonks laughed against his neck. "I'd like to meet him."

"You could, you know." There it was again, that Gryffindor courage getting him in well over his head. Remus shifted uncomfortably, not quite willing to meet her eyes. He toyed with a loose thread on her dress, staring resolutely at a grease spot on the floor. "That is to say, the Order could use all the help it can get, and your Auror training would prove an invaluable asset, I'm sure." Finally his eyes rose to meet hers, surprised at the vulnerability he saw there. "Come with me?" he whispered.

"Remus, I…"

"Shh." He placed a finger against her lips. "You don't have to decide right now. Besides," he added, gently removing her from his lap and standing to unlock the door, "it's time to see just how badly we've managed to annoy the Captain of the Guard."

Once in the hallway he took a moment to still the pounding of his heart, which had nothing to do with the impending ruckus of the alarm. "Third time's the charm," he muttered as he sent yet another thrush winging into the exhibition hall.

Returning to the closet and closing the door quietly behind him, he looked at Tonks in stunned surprise. "It worked."

She threw her arms around him, grinning. "Did you have any doubts?"

"Yes, quite a few, actually," he laughed. Turning serious, he added. "Now comes the hard part. Are you quite sure you want to go through with this?"

"I don't have much choice, do I? Not with Death Eaters after Dad's painting."

"All right. Here, let me disillusion you." He tapped her on the head with his wand, then waited as she did the same for him. "This should fool the Muggle security cameras. Once we're out in the hall, you can remove the painting whilst I stand watch. As soon as you get it down, reduce it to a manageable size and apparate out of the building. Don't wait for me –" He shushed her protest. "I'll be right behind you, trust me."

The plan went off without a hitch, much to Remus' relief. Tonks lowered the painting to the floor with a simple Wingardium Leviosa and used a shrinking spell to reduce it to a quarter its original size. Remus placed it into a leather carrying pouch and they both apparated at once. She met him at the previously agreed upon point in the alleyway.

"We did it," she cried out, laughing, as she fell into his arms.

He spun her around with equal enthusiasm. "We did, didn't we?"

Staccato clapping echoed off the brick walls of the museum as Emilie Karkaroff stepped into the alley, her wand drawn. "How very clever of you both. And how thoughtful of you to save me all that work. Now hand over the painting, if you please."


	5. Confrontations and Decisions

Tonks stared in mute disbelief at the entrance to the alley where Emilie Karkaroff stood, her platinum blonde hair framed by the streetlights in a grotesque caricature of a halo. They had come so close to getting away with it – the painting could have disappeared with the Death Eaters, the authorities, even her father none the wiser. Her heart pounded in her ears as the adrenaline rush from her successful escapade with Remus turned to icy fear.

Remus stepped forward, his hands raised placatingly, placing himself between Tonks and the Death Eater. "I'm not sure I understand what you mean, Madame –"

"Don't waste my time, werewolf," spat Karkaroff. "_Accio_ painting!" The pouch containing the miniaturized panel of the Hag flew off of his shoulder, spilling to the ground. The painting skidded across the cobblestoned alleyway and landed at Karkaroff's feet.

Tonks started forward, only to be held back by Remus. "_Incendio_!" He pointed his wand at the wood panel, which erupted into flame.

"You fool! What have you done?," Karkaroff screamed. "_Crucio_!!"

With a cry, Remus fell to the ground, writhing in pain.

Tonks had her own wand out in an instant. "_Stupefy_!" Karkaroff was thrown against the wall of the alley with the force of the curse. She slid to the ground, unconscious. Tonks quickly summoned the other woman's wand and tucked it into the belt of her dress.

Tonks knelt where Remus lay panting on the ground. She realized her hands were shaking as she pushed a lock of sweat-soaked hair away from his eyes. "Remus?"

"I'm fine ..." His voice was hoarse but he managed a reassuring smile as he added, "Nymphadora." Tonks wasn't sure whether she wanted to laugh or cry at his use of her dreaded given name. Remus pulled himself into a sitting position, leaning heavily on his knees. He looked towards where Karkaroff lay unconscious. "Is she...?"

"Out like a light. Although I suppose we can't be too careful. _Incarcerous_." Magical ropes spilled forth from the tip of her wand, wrapping themselves securely around Karkaroff's inert form. Tonks turned back to Remus, helping him stand. "You need to go. The Magical gendarmes will have detected the Cruciatus Curse, they'll be here any minute."

He was shaking his head. "I don't want to leave you alone."

"I can handle them – it's Karkaroff who used an unforgivable. I can say I found her trying to steal my father's painting and tried to stop her. It's my word against that of a Death Eater wannabe, after all." She hesitated before adding, "Remus, it might be better if I'm alone when they get here ..."

"Lest they find you consorting with a werewolf," he finished bitterly.

She nodded, looking into his eyes and willing him to believe that it didn't reflect her own feelings.

After a moment he squeezed her arms in reassurance. "You're right, of course. No need to make your story more difficult by throwing a foreign werewolf into the mix."

"I parked Dad's car around the corner. Can you make it there on your own?"

"Yes, I think so." He smiled wanly. "The curse didn't last that long and its effects pale in comparison to even the mildest transformation. You'll be careful?"

She nodded, then grabbed his arm as he made to leave and stood tip-toe to kiss him quickly on the lips. Remus leaned his forehead against hers for a moment before limping down the alley in the direction she had indicated. The pop of apparition drew her attention as the Magical gendarmes arrived. She didn't notice as he hid in a darkened corner to assure himself that she would be all right.

It was the early hours of the morning by the time Tonks was allowed to leave. Her claim that she had managed to deflect the Cruciatus Curse and simultaneously disarm Karkaroff was met with skepticism, but in the end the gendarmes had no choice but to accept her story, since it was incontrovertible that it had been Karkaroff who cast the unforgivable. The freshly minted Dark Mark on the other woman's arm made her prevarications that much easier. She was finally released with a promise to bring her father by the station later that day to fill out paperwork on the destroyed painting.

She found Remus sleeping in the back of the car, his arm thrown over his face against the morning light. Deciding not to wake him, she climbed into the car and drove home.

* * *

Tonks stuffed the last pair of socks into her trunk and snapped it shut. She looked around there room. There was little to suggest she had spent the last two years of her life here. In truth, the light, airy room with its lace curtains and canopied bed had never truly felt like home to her. She levitated her trunk down the stairs, where Remus stood talking with her Dad.

"I'm truly sorry, Ted. It was a magnificent piece of work."

"Don't worry yourself about it, son. You did what you had to do. I'm just glad those damned Death Eaters didn't get their hands on it. Ah, there she is. Come and give your old dad a kiss, Dora."

Tonks gladly obliged, lingering in Ted's arms a bit longer than usual as she struggled with the lump in her throat. "Remus, can I have a moment?"

"Of course. I'll just wait in the other room."

Tonks searched her father's face. "Are you sure about this, Dad?"

"Dora, love, I didn't expect you to stay with me forever, you know. All children grow up someday. I know how much you've missed London, and living as a Muggle hasn't been easy for you. Remus says you might even be able to take up your training again."

"I don't know, maybe. It's been so long..."

"Ah, they'd be nuts to say no to the best Auror candidate they've had in a decade. You go, and you give 'em hell for your old dad, you hear?"

Tonks nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Ted opened his arms and she stumbled into him, trying to stem the tears. He wrapped his arms tightly around her and stroked her hair. "I can't tell you how much it's meant to me, having you here these last two years. But I'll be fine, now, love, I've made a good life for myself here. And you'll only be a floo away."

"No more forgeries?" she asked.

She could feel his chuckle against her cheek. "No more forgeries. I think I'll stick to landscapes for a while. Now," he added, pulling back to wipe the tears off her cheeks. "We best not keep Remus waiting or he'll think you've changed your mind."

He tucked her under his arm as they made their way down the hall to the sitting room. "He seems like a good man, this Remus Lupin. Anything I should know?"

"Dad!"

They found Remus looking up at the portrait of Andromeda. Ted reached out to take his hand. "Thanks again for all your help, Remus."

"It was my pleasure, sir."

Ted smiled knowingly at Dora. "I'd guessed that much. You'll give me a call when you get there, won't you Dora? And let me know about this cousin of yours. I think I'd like to meet him one day."

"I'm certain Sirius would like to meet you, as well, Ted." Remus shook his hand a final time.

Tonks stepped up to give her father another hug. "Love you, Dad."

"Love you too, Dora. Your mother would be very proud. Take care."

Remus stepped to the fireplace. "Ready?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm ready."

Remus handed her a piece of paper. "Read this, and then follow me in the floo." He tossed a handful of powder into the flames and called out, "Grimmauld Place."

Tonks looked at the paper. In fine script were written the words,

"**_The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is located at number twelve Grimmauld Place."_**


End file.
